


Le Moribond

by lostprinceloki



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostprinceloki/pseuds/lostprinceloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The world moves slower, I find, without you.” </p>
<p>In which Loki is the last Time Lord, and Thor is the companion that never was, but might be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Moribond

**Author's Note:**

> Though it's quite short, I enjoyed this one and who knows, I may expand on this idea in the future. Thank you to anyone and everyone who reads this! :')

He’s an expatriate in the lands of his thighs and lips- his entire body isn’t his, his eyes contort to find  _where_  he is, but he doesn’t understand, doesn’t  _know._

His eyes are lapsing, oceanic waves crashing against the brim of his skull, thudding against the shorelines above his eyelashes. He shivers, and his insides convulse along. 

He’s choking, his hands on his thighs, and his naked flesh rolls unto the floor, where he heaves twice before checking the time. 

He needed the right time, he _wanted_  it. The wind blows through his hair, rip tides through the masses of flooded tears collecting onto his fingertips. 

He takes a sunbath as the facets of the day all turn to stare down at him disparagingly. 

He breathes heavily- he has nowhere to go, he has everywhere to find. His eyes flutter, and he pauses to let the floorboards whisper to his body to  _go home._

-

Loki coughs until he feels his hands wither, unravel like silk gauze from a wound. 

In his periods of rest and dormancy, he cannot find the strength to continue his misconstrued pursuits. 

He doesn’t carry a name- not one that he can lie in and utter helplessly to the aging world,  _yes, this is me._  

The year is contingent to the weather; if he’s in bared sun, he must be in Spain in the 1500’s. If the October skies dance in reflection to cold, empty piers, he’s in Italy in the late 19th century. He can’t explain his desire to remain on Earth.

He chooses where he wants to go with his eyes close and lips parted, airless- he listens when no one is talking, because he wants to remember a history that isn’t his own. 

-

He’s the last of his kind- to write his life on paper is to pull out one’s vocal chords and sing to them as they pulsate, a bloodied wretch of muscle. Loki doesn’t cringe at his own thoughts but lets a smile swallow him.

He doesn’t like finding himself here- the planet of Asgard, only the unhealthily  _alive_ can continually believe in the Allfather, and follow under that  _brute_  Thor. Still, Loki has a sole duty that he himself appointed- to complete that which has neither end nor beginning. To let the breadth between this realm and the next be  _transparent_ \- to experience it all.

Nonlinear time is a transient beast whose transfiguration depends on companionship, however; and time has been cold and  _ugly_ to him for far too long. 

He doesn’t want it to escape his mouth, but he knows the truth inside. 

“Old friend! It has been too long of a time-“ 

Loki’s thoughts perish as the wind picks up from under his fingertips and the earth dances. He lets out a soft groan and rolls his eyes. 

“I think not,  _brother_  of mine.” 

“Oh, Loki, what cause of celebration has bought our paths together, this eve of the Odinsleep? You visit us rarely, and smile even less, so.” 

“Lest you wish to keep your tongue, I suggest you keep it in your mouth for one quick second. I simply require respite. You must know more than anyone else how vexing it is to simply  _be,_ as I am.”

“Verily; and yet, I offer a rather easy solution to that which ails you. Why not cease this traveling of yours?”

“And subjugate myself to the laws of  _your kind?_ To bow down to that which is against my nature? I am a Time Lord of the Planet Gallifrey, and, ignoring recent and subsequent events, that of which only you know of,  _dear,_ I must honor my race and home as best as I can.” 

“Withdraw the malice from your tone, Loki. All your life- all our lives, we’ve been brothers and friends, and all that in betwixt, and yet once the Allfather explained your true birthright, you’ve become nothing but insufferable. You even said it yourself!-“ 

Loki has to wince as Thor’s voice resounds but he doesn’t move any further away from their perch beyond the mosses and grasses of the Wyrd.

“-I am the only one that has truly learned of the plights of your origin, and the secrets you hardly dare to think of. Ease your resentments, at least towards me.” 

Loki, despite being the cleverer of the two, often chooses his impractical emotional sovereignty over the immalleable and heartfelt realism Thor lives by.

“I am  _tired_ , Thor. I’ve been suspended through time and beyond, and I’ve hardly the time to carry conversation with you. I come to rest, and nothing more.”

“ _Cast away time, for a moment, brother!_ Aye, I haven’t the heart nor the will to listen to the slander thrown around, regarding you, Loki, but I do not think they fully exaggerate when they call you the Prince of Lies. Never will I believe you to be tired- tired of seeing all there is to see on your own?- yes. But tired?- no. You can manipulate time to flow unto the form that pleases you, and with her you can meld until you truly fit. So if you must cut conversation short, if you must leave my side again, simply speak the truth and promise me you _will return._ ”

“You are just like the rest, Thor. I never belonged in Asgard, never will; would you like to hear a truth, for once? Imbibe this from my mouth, for it will be richer than any wine you have tasted, and no more bitter- I travel to  _escape_ you. In a world where the fates are your blood, what have I? What courses through my veins but incident? A title, a repute, a name? I am not your brother, and I can never belong to you. Do not deceive me, it _is_  what you wish. I too wish you were mine, brother.”

Loki folds into his thighs, his dark tresses blindfolding him to Thor, who peers at him, incurious and poignant. He knows the unmapped heartlands of the terrain in himself will quiver and ache whenever he draws himself to Thor, so why does he travel to this same time?

What is it that calls him here, who thunderously and violently looks into his heart and directs him here? 

“Someday I will watch you die, Thor. Be it another century or ten, I will eternally see the image of your corpse, antiquated and infantile at the same time. I know this- for I’ve walked to the end of days and back.”

“Time is not always fixed and conclusive; I will not allow you to say goodbye to me while we are breathing and so _near._ ”

“I cannot love-“ 

“You _do_ -! You must, Loki, you have and _please_ , do not travel alone anymore.” 

Loki chuckles forlornly as Thor pleads, and takes Thor’s hand in his palm, pensive with an unrelenting smile on his face. Thor relaxes and his fingers twitch, unsure and it shows on his face. Loki presses a thigh to Thor’s, gently and knowingly asking him to come closer and never move again.

“Come with me, then.” 

“I- what?” 

“If it displeases you to see me traveling without a companion, then join my side and accompany me. The world moves slower, I find, without you.” 

“What an honor! Nothing would satisfy me more!” Thor seems to burst with a seemly excitement that gives Loki a wider smile, one Thor hasn’t seen in years, decades. 

In his excitement, Thor had pushed the two on their backs, side by side. They watch the divinization of the sun pass them by, and night lace the able skies with a forgivable darkness. 

Loki says little of Thor’s hand that has intertwined with his own, nor the looks he feels Thor give him every few seconds. Instead, he thinks to himself of what little Thor has ever seen, and he too feels a bit of excitement, though he’d never let Thor know it.

“Have you ever left Asgard? Tell me you’ve traveled to the Bifrost atleast, in the time since I’ve left?”

“Nay. I do little and a lot here in Asgard; it’s my home and I, too, wait for you here, Loki.” 

The air nearly chokes Loki from where he lay, and he lets the moment seize him in his entirety, for he knows time stretches in undulating waves of heartbeats, that will eventually fall out of syncopation. 

“I did not really travel to pay homage to a family I do not know, nor to escape you, Thor. I needed time, I wanted time- to be mine so I can come always come back and see the you I know you best as. You will someday leave me, because you should and justly so-“

“I would never-“

“You will. I would really be the Prince of Lies to say it would not hurt me. In the end, Thor, you have always broken my heart, and perhaps it will be so, in the future.” 

“What can I do-“

“Nothing, now. Let time unravel as it must. Certain events must transpire, Thor.”

“Tell me-  _will it all be okay?”_

Hot flashes trickle like sparks in the night and the only memories he can conjure burn like stars against his mind- their childhood. Something is telling him not to look forward, not to imagine, not to think, to just let Thor’s grip be his weight and the look in his eyes be his light. 

“Yes, Thor, it shall. As things always will be, between us.”

“I trust you, brother.”

He turns, delicately and without sound, and presses his lips to Thor’s, crushingly cold and yet Thor still feels an unfamiliar warmth rage in him as he pulls him closer. 

“I do, I must, I have.” Loki whispers into Thor’s collarbone, moments solidifying and cementing them to the wild grasses beneath the remorseful sky. 

“What was that?” Loki thinks of time, again, of the manipulation and the trickery he has done, of his race and the beauty they’ve made a monster out of. He shakes his head, and clings. 

“Are you tired of waiting, Thor? All of time and space is in our grasp, now.” 

Thor wants to whisper yes and let himself fall further but instead his sighs of love seek Loki’s abandon to rest in. 

“I’d rather die than miss your voice, brother.” 


End file.
